


xvi. bedridden

by tempestaurora



Series: it's okay, we're okay [whumpvember 2018] [16]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Whumptober, its all fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 15:16:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16642679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempestaurora/pseuds/tempestaurora
Summary: Pepper Stark is decidedly not sick, because Pepper Stark doesn'tgetsick.So the fact that's she's bedridden for the day means that she's probably dying.Tony and Peter have a particular responsibility to look after while she's working through the plague.





	xvi. bedridden

**Author's Note:**

> mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm this is what u get bc i cba to give u anything better

Tony frowned at the bundle of blankets and soft toys, Peter twitching by his side. “There’s no reason to be worried,” he said, the crease between his brow deepening.

“ _I’m_ not worried,” Peter replied in a rush. “Are you?”

“No- no! Of course not. We’ve done this before. We’ve done this alone.”

“Yeah. Yeah, totally. Never under threat of our lives, before, though.”

Tony tilted his head as the bundle shifted and both of them tensed. After a moment, the blankets stopped moving and Peter blew out a sigh. “We’re overreacting,” Tony announced.

“Totally,” Peter agreed. “But Pepper’s _scary_.”

“She’s the scariest person I’ve ever met.”

There was a pause, and then the blanket squirmed back into life. Tony leaned down towards the crib, brushing them aside and moving the stuffed duck from where it was sitting on top of his baby’s head.

“Hey, Morgan,” Tony cooed, watching as the little girl’s face lit up, a babble rolling from her tiny mouth. “Yeah, good morning to you, too.” Tony pulled her from the crib, only a few months old with a tiny tuft of blonde hair on her head. He smiled, holding her close, before immediately frowning. “You’re a Stark,” he said with a sigh. “Stark’s should be potty trained by six weeks.”

Next to him, Peter scoffed. “Don’t place unrealistic expectations on a new born, Tony.”

Tony held out his daughter towards Peter. “Go change her.”

Peter raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “She’s your daughter.”

“She’s your sister.”

“She’s _your_ responsibility.”

“Nope,” Tony said, popping the ‘p’. “Pepper said she’s under both of our care while she’s dying. So go change your sister’s diaper and I’ll make breakfast.”

Peter frowned, but the baby was still held out in the air between the two of them, her wide brown eyes looking at each of them with no concern. He sighed and took his sister.

“Pepper’s not dying,” Peter said, before marching off to the bathroom.

 

-

 

Pepper might as well have been dying, because as far as Mrs Stark was concerned, being ill _at all_ was the sign of the plague. In the whole time Tony had known her, she’d been sick once; back when he was first parading around in a flashy red and gold suit, thinking himself the hottest of shit. She’d had a cold, and her nose all red was cute, whether Tony wanted to admit it or not.

Pepper hadn’t been ill since, because Pepper Stark does not _get_ sick. Pepper Stark is stronger than the common cold or the flu. She is stronger than the food poisoning that Tony and Peter had come down with after some bad chicken, that she had eaten too but had _decided_ she wasn’t going to get ill from.

So if Pepper Stark was bedridden, she was on her way to death’s doors, and even then she was still working.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Tony said, wandering into their bedroom as Peter tried to teach a three-month old the alphabet. Both boys were pretty sure that Morgan was going to outshine them all, but Pepper was pretty sure she was a _three-month old_ and wouldn’t get a grasp of the alphabet for a little while longer yet.

“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Pepper replied, absent, scrolling through a StarkPad that Tony had foolishly left in her vicinity. Her skin was paler than usual, and she’d spent the entire night vomiting out her insides – which she hadn’t even done when pregnant with Morgan, no. She’d felt the pain in her stomach, announced, _this foetus isn’t going to make me throw up_ , and so it didn’t.

“As hardcore as that sounds, you need to sleep.”

“There’s a shareholders’ meeting, a board members’ meeting _and_ I had a phone call scheduled with Pym Tech this afternoon. I _need_ to be at work.”

Tony rolled his eyes, settling on the edge of the bed. He placed his fingers on top of the StarkPad and pushed it down so she’d finally look at him. “And you call me a workaholic.”

“This is different,” Pepper replied. There were bags on the bags under her eyes, and Tony sent her a sympathetic smile, before brushing her fringe from her forehead. Her skin was hot to the touch, and Pepper’s eyes drifted shut at the feel of his hand pressed there.

“You always say I work so hard I forget about my health,” Tony said, quiet, though there was a hint of _I’m right and you know it_ in his tone. “That I’m – what was it? Obsessed and losing sleep over it?”

Pepper sighed through her nose. “I’m not losing sleep.”

“You didn’t sleep at all last night. You were too busy vomiting your guts up.”

“Tony.”

“Pepper.”

There was a beat of silence where Tony moved his hand from her forehead, tucking a lose lock of hair behind her ear.

“One day,” Tony said. “That’s all this is. One day where you can rest and care about your health and let someone else run the business into the ground.” She pulled a face and he laughed. “If you don’t look after yourself right now, you’ll never have a high horse to sit on again when it comes to me and how long I spend in the lab.”

“That’s not fair and you know it.”

“Get some sleep.”

Tony pressed a kiss against her forehead before slipping the StarkPad from her grasp. He refilled her glass of water from the tap in the en suite as Pepper slipped back down into bed.

“How’s Morgan?” Pepper asked, her body betraying her with a yawn.

“She’s just fine. I’m a good dad you know. I can look after her for a day without your supervision.”

Pepper laughed, pressing her cheek into the pillow. “I know. I trust you.”

“I know you do.”

“I just like calling you periodically throughout the day anyway.”

Tony’s lips curled into a smile. “Mrs Stark, do you use our daughter as an excuse to talk to me when you should be working?”

Pepper yawned with a tired smile. “Mr Stark, why would I ever do such a thing as that?”

Tony brushed a hand through her hair as Pepper’s eyes flickered shut.

“I love you, Pep.”

“Mm. Love you too.”

 

-

 

When he emerged back out into the living room, Tony stopped dead still, eyes wide in disbelief. The living room and kitchen were open plan, and across them both were the feathers from inside his cushions. There was also a strange amount of webbing Spiderman used, the TV playing to itself and the flash cards Peter had been using thrown across both rooms. Peter, himself, was sitting on the ceiling, staring directly at Tony in a panic.

“Where’s Morgan?” Tony asked, voice hard.

Peter nodded to the kitchen, where she sat on the floor, surrounded by an upturned bottle of milk, leaking everywhere, what looked like cookie batter splattered against the cabinets, floor and his entire daughter’s being. She giggled, slamming her palm into the mess.

“I didn’t know you were making cookies,” Tony said, for lack of anything else to say.

“It was on a whim,” Peter replied. Then, after a few seconds: “Are you going to kill me?”

“No.” Tony’s voice was impressively measured, considering the feathers stuck to Morgan’s head and – for some reason – an entire bottle of purple food colouring staining the floor around her. “But Pepper might.”

“God,” Peter whispered. “That’s worse.”

Yes. That was much, much worse.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


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